


Summer Sunset

by Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Comfort For A Given Value of Comfort, Dreams, Gen, Spoilers Through Episode 72 of Campaign 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 01:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/pseuds/Angel%20Ascending
Summary: It takes a while for Fjord to find sleep, after everything that’s happened. His body shakes with spent adrenaline, his mind races with the implications of what he’s just done, his chest aches despite Caduceus’s healing touch. He stills see the moment behind his closed eyes, the golden sword slicked with red, shining like a sunset as it arcs through the air and sinks into the pool of lava. Sunset. Summer. Summer’s Dance.That was the last bit of him, Fjord thinks, and a wave of sorrow and regret washes over him as he finally slips into the dark.





	Summer Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> It's been over a year now, and this is the Molly I remember. Rough around the edges, trying to do good, comforting for a given value of comfort. 
> 
> Written for @disasterhumans on Tumblr, who wanted someone to fic Fjord realizing that the sword he had just destroyed was his last link to Molly. I don't know if this suits, but it's what I wrote.

It takes a while for Fjord to find sleep, after everything that’s happened. His body shakes with spent adrenaline, his mind races with the implications of what he’s just done, his chest aches despite Caduceus’s healing touch. He stills see the moment behind his closed eyes, the golden sword slicked with red, shining like a sunset as it arcs through the air and sinks into the pool of lava. Sunset. Summer. Summer’s Dance.

_That was the last bit of him,_ Fjord thinks, and a wave of sorrow and regret washes over him as he finally slips into the dark.

—————

Fjord’s standing on a beach, staring out over the water, watching the light of the setting sun paint the waves and sky and brilliant red gold. It’s a beautiful sight, a familiar one, and yet he can’t enjoy it. This is a dream, and any second the sun might turn into an eye, tentacles might erupt from the sand or a scaly head rise from the water. He threw his sword into the magma, but what if Caduceus had been right and that had only been the _first_ step? What if Uk’otoa still had a link to him, weaker maybe for Fjord’s sacrifice, but still present? Fjord doesn’t know how any of this worked, maybe—

Light shines out over the water, white and pure, and Fjord casts a startled glance back at the beach. He sees the Mother’s lighthouse curving up out of the rock, her carved hair a tangle, her hands cupped to receive those who are lost, the light of her gaze keeping all that she sees safe from harm. Assurance washes over him, wordless and warm, that nothing will harm him here.

“Thank you,” Fjord whispers before turning back to the sunset, appreciating it now for what it was. He had been thinking of sunsets before he had fallen asleep, hadn’t he? He chases that thought. Light shining off a golden sword. Blood. Molly.

“Oh, this is nice,” says a voice from behind Fjord, a voice he hasn’t heard in months and had thought never to hear again. “Is this what Nicodranas looks like? I never did get to see it with you.”

Fjord turns and there he is, just as Fjord remembers him, from the jewelry in his horns catching the light of the setting sun to the tip of his tail waving merrily like a cat. He’s not wearing his coat, just his usual open necked shirt and tights and boots, and Fjord’s eyes drink in the sight of purple skin and the explosion of colors inked along it, the faint lines of lavender scars accenting the art. There’s a new scar running vertically down Molly’s chest, huge and jagged and awful, and Fjord stares at it. He’d been told how Molly had been killed, of course. He had _heard_ it, though at the time he hadn’t known what he was hearing. He—

“My eyes are up here,” Molly says with a chuckle, and when Fjord looks up at Molly’s face, the tiefling is grinning, his smile as sharp as a sword blade, his red eyes dancing with merriment.

“This is a dream,” Fjord says, and Molly laughs.

“That’s true,” Molly replies. “You’re alive and asleep and dreaming, and I’m none of those things. But that doesn’t mean this isn’t real.” He steps forward, his boots slipping a bit on the sand, and places his hand on Fjord’s chest. Fjord feels the warmth of it through his shirt. “We have matching scars now. Always knew I’d be a trendsetter someday.”

Fjord steps back, feeling anger simmer in his blood. “How can you _joke_ about that? Molly, you’re _dead_.”

The smile falls from Molly’s face as Fjord moves away from him, and after a moment his hand falls back to his side. “I’m sorry, it’s just—“ he shrugs. “For me, it’s over and done with. I died, and you lived. The world kept turning regardless. You went off and kept having adventures and so did I.” Molly rubs at the back of his neck and Fjord notices that there’s a tattoo of a crescent moon behind one ear that he swears hadn’t been there before, along with a tattoo of a raven’s feather that curves along his collarbone, shining black and green and purple in the setting sun. “I laugh because no amount of tears will change what happened.”

Fjord lets out his breath in a shaky sigh. “Well I can’t laugh about it. I’m still sorry that I couldn’t—“

“Don’t.” The word is as heavy as six feet of dirt. “Listen, I don’t know if this—“ Molly gestures around him, “—will ever happen again. We might not have a lot of time. I’d rather not have you spend it apologizing for things that weren’t your fault. There was only one person responsible for my death and he’s _dead_. Rather dramatically killed I must say. Can we just sit down together and watch the sunset? Please?”

Fjord looks at Molly’s pleading expression and knows that the tiefling will get his way. He doesn’t want to argue, and so he doesn’t. “All right,” he says, and sits, making himself comfortable in the sand. A moment later Molly is next to him, sitting cross-legged, his smile slowly returning to his face.

“Speaking of dramatics, what you did tonight? I cheered so hard that I think the Raven Queen’s ears are still ringing.” Molly chuckles. “I mean, I wanted you to throw the sword in the damn magma straight off instead of you going and stabbing yourself, but you got there in the end. That took a lot of guts, finally standing up to that scaly bastard.”

Fjord blinks, turning his head to look at Molly. “You saw that? Are you like, watching us all the time?”

“I do have a life— an existence outside of you,” Molly says with a grin. “But I watch when I can. Time is—weird where I am. I’ve seen bits. Caleb roasting that fucker Lorenzo and everyone getting rescued. You guys stealing a boat. A _boat._ There was some stuff in a temple, an underwater ghost, Nott’s whole not being a goblin thing, Xhorhas, a terribly attractive drow who totally has a crush on Caleb, your pink-haired cleric friend growing a whole ass _tree_ on top of your _house. _You’ve been _busy._”

“When you lay it all out like that, it sounds both like a lot and hardly anything,” Fjord says, and then he realizes something Molly didn’t list. He doesn’t want to say it, but if Molly doesn’t know, someone should tell him. “Do you know about Yasha and—“

“Yeah.” Molly sighs, and Fjord can hear the agitated swish of Molly’s tail through the sand. “Yeah, I know. She’ll come back though.” He doesn’t sound sure. “She always came back before.”

They sit in silence for awhile after that, and Fjord notices that while the sun still hasn’t set, the moon has risen, a silver crescent like a smile shining over the sea, surrounded by a scattering of stars.

“Guess you’re going to need a new sword now,” Molly says, breaking the silence.

Fjord wonders if Molly knows about the broken blade, the sword that was supposed to have been forged with the help of acolytes of the Moonweaver and the Wildmother. “Guess so,” is what he says. “My only regret is that my falchion was, well— one of my last ties to you,”

Fjord doesn’t expect Molly to chuckle or to give him a shove in the shoulder, but the tiefling does both.

“Fuck regrets,” Molly says passionately. “Seriously. Listen. That sword you carried was the leash Uk’otoa was dragging you around by, the fact that it was all mixed up with a sword _I_ used for a few weeks was just icing on a very weird cake. It’s all just _stuff_. My sword is gone, _your_ sword is gone. Some day my tarot cards will fade to plain white. One day Beau will go to take something out of her bag and the carnival flyer she doesn’t want you to know about will fall out and blow away. You all have your memories of me, and one day you’ll be gone as well, and all that’ll be left is the flowers growing on my grave.”

Fjord mulls that over. “That… I don’t know if that’s comforting or not.”

Molly laughs. “I’m not sure if I meant it to be comforting, if we’re being honest. I think I meant it to be a truth.” He looks up at the stars. “It’s fine to miss me and remember me. It’s _nice_ to be remembered, I’m not going to lie. But don’t let those memories and my death turn into chains that bind you or weigh you down. That’s the last thing I want, for any of you.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Fjord says, staring out at the sunset while Molly stares up at the stars. After a moment, Molly leans against Fjord’s side, solid and warm, a dream turned real, or reality turned into a dream, as the sun slips slowly into the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> I checked Critrole stats, and unless I did the math wrong (entirely possible) in game time Molly had his Summer's Dance sword for about... 11 days. 
> 
> I'm angel-ascending on Tumblr and angel_in_ink on Twitter if y'all want to stop by and say hi!


End file.
